


your face (in every flower)

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, Prompt Fic, flower shop au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8045341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: The Flower Shop AU we all suddenly wanted ;)





	your face (in every flower)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [this tumblr prompt](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/229585) by several tumblr users. 



> You know which tumblr prompt I'm talking about ;)

Considering the fact that he’s not actually a florist, but a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent on a long-term undercover mission, he’s doing his job pretty well. He’s always been sort of a history geek and 19th century books about the symbolism of flowers seemed to be the right thing to read to prepare himself for the actual florist work while waiting for customers.

The flower shop is facing a huge research institute which has the reputation of accepting requests from private clients, as long as a substantial amount of money is involved. Coulson seemed perfect for the job: able to blend in into every given situation, establishing a character nice enough not to arouse any suspicion and boring enough not to be remembered too clearly. Admittedly, he’s more used to being on the forefront of more ... dangerous missions, but this is nice for a change. The shop’s smell reminds him of his mother.

The mission has been pretty uneventful so far; Coulson’s been observing the building and taking notes, sending them in via bouquets, the data written inside the small cards stuck between the flowers. It’s quite an old-fashioned way of communication, but to be honest, that’s how Coulson likes his tricks: classy and under the radar (who would suspect a bunch of nicely-wrapped flowers?).

Everything seems pretty under control, quite predictable, really, until a young woman storms into the shop. Coulson rarely gets any customers; he’s been selling three-four bouquets a day on average. He’s about to go through his nice little routine, asking her what she’s looking for, pointing at the nicest-looking cut flowers in the buckets around him, when she slaps a $20 bill onto the counter.  
“How do I passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flower?”  
A beat.  
“Um – let’s see. How about ... yellow carnations, maybe?”  
“What am I saying with those?”  
“They mean you’re disappointed.”  
“Good. But not enough. What else do you have?”  
“What do you – what do you need?”  
“How about something that says ‘you’re an idiot’?”

He walks around the counter to show her a different kind of flowers: geraniums.  
“These mean stupidity.”  
“Awesome. Still not enough though.”  
“May I – sorry, but – may I ask who they are for?”  
She sighs, but it sounds angry. “My shitty. Asshole. Boyfriend.”  
He swallows.  
“Hmm. What could we – what about insincerity?”  
“Spot on. What do they look like?”  
He points at the foxglove.  
“Nice.”

He arranges the flowers into the bouquet.  
“I think he’ll need more.” She’s beginning to sound a little amused, and it makes him smile.  
“Sure thing. What is he like? I mean – what else would you like to ... criticize?”  
“Oh, I don’t know. Do you have anything else here that could be saying ‘fuck you’?”  
“Let me see ... I mean you could always add orange lilies for hatred. If that’s not too extreme.”  
“I don’t intend to carry on with this relationship, if that’s what you mean.”  
“... Sure. Sorry. Lilies.”  
“Great. Do you have anything that could tell him he’s not good for anything? Except for power outages?” She sounds a little bitter.  
“I don’t think I can offer you anything that specific. Meadowsweet’s for uselessness, though.”  
She nods.

He rearranges the flowers, and the bouquet looks really nice, actually. The colours match. Pity it’s for a breakup.  
“Maybe I should just keep it,” she says, “it looks nice.”  
“Thank you. But –“  
“No, no. I know. Do you have anything that says ‘good luck’ though?”  
He smiles, points to a bucket on the shelf behind him. “Pink heather?”  
“Nice. Can I buy one?”  
“No, I’m sure it’s of more use when you don’t have to buy it yourself. Here –“ – he hands her the flower – “look, it goes well with your jacket!”  
Her smile is a little tired. “Thank you. That’s really nice of you.”  
“You’ll do great.”

She looks at him with her eyebrows arched.  
He chuckles. “Sorry. Not how I meant it.”  
She picks up the bill, hands it to him. “Does that cover it?”  
“Oh, of course. That’s too much –“  
“Nah, keep it. Thanks for doing this,” – she squints, reads the stitched name on his shirt – “Phil.”  
Before he can reply, she’s out the door, leaving the bells chiming loudly.  
Definitely the most memorable client he’s had so far.

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued! :) Hope you liked it!


End file.
